


Dog Bitten

by nightcreeping



Category: Southern Comfort (1981)
Genre: Aftermath, Canon Typical Violence, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, No Beta, One Shot, PTSD, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcreeping/pseuds/nightcreeping
Summary: To his right, an empty bed. To his left, Spencer.
Relationships: Charles Hardin/Spencer, Corporal Hardin/PFC Spencer
Kudos: 1





	Dog Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> Only person a fan of this movie enough to write a fic but that's fine. Basically an after piece to the movie, just a little thing. Can be read as just friendship too.

Hardin woke, but did not open his eyes.

He focused on the sensations around him, the chemical antiseptic smell in the air, the cool draft of the air conditioning. Opening his eyes just seemed like extra work. 

He already knew where he was, anyhow. 

Bandaged up in one of the army's state of the art medical facilities, complete with his own personal doctor and nursemaid. The proper apology for the disaster his training squad operation was. 

He finally willed himself to open his eyes, greeted by the same white wall he saw everyday. 

The brightness of the lights stung his eyes and the blankets itched. 

To his right, an empty bed. 

To his left, Spencer. 

Spencer was reading a worn red book, contentment sprawled on his face. Like he was anywhere but a hospital. The harsh light made his dirty blonde hair look thin, and his sunken eyes tracked the page. 

_Lucky bastard should be happy. Nothin happened to him._ Hardin thought. 

Hardin had left that hick country with two coon dog bites to his arm and leg, a knife through his left forearm and a bullet to his right shoulder. 

Spencer left with slight dehydration. 

"I though it was time you shipped on out." 

Hardin said, sitting up against his pillow on his cot. 

Spencer closed his book and set it gently on his bed. He turned towards Hardin. 

"Nah i'll just stick around. Foods better here then back home anyhow." He smiled infectiously. 

Hardin sat quietly, examining his bandaged arm. The injury itched so bad he wanted to rip the gauze clean off. His whole body felt agitated and fatigued. Spencer's bright eyes bore holes into his head. 

"You heading back home to your pretty wife?" Spencer asked, trying to rejuvenate the conversation. 

Harding suddenly didn't want to talk anymore. 

"Yea." 

He closed his eyes to signal the end of the conversation, but Spencer continued. 

"Maybe you can come up to my place some time, and we can have a beer and talk about the good old days getting lost in a swamp huh? You show me how you learned that knife trick and i'll show you what us city boys call fun." 

If Spencer continued on or not, Hardin didn't know. He was already drifting off again, Spencer's voice and the sounds of the hospital a soft lull in the back of his head. 

\---

He was running, fast, tripping over tree roots and trudging through mud. No weapons, no defense. 

They were almost on him, four, five countrymen. With dogs, and knives, and guns. 

Hardin tripped violently, landing hard on the cold ground. 

He scrambled to push himself back up, but paused. 

In the clear moonlight, he saw 8 bodies. Strung up by their necks, tongues bloated and hanging out of slack jaws. Their eyes were glass and white, and the unmistakable scent of decay scented the air. 

His troop members. 

Behind him he heard rustling, but it was too late. 

Hardin was flipped over onto his back. The muzzle of a gun inches from his face. The trapper with the mustache stood above it, eyes trained and dark. 

The trapper cocked the gun. 

"That's the last time you come round here." 

\----

He was up with a start, straining to take gasps of air as he reoriented himself. 

_ Still in my bed. Still in the hospital.  _

Hardins chest thumped, and the bullet wound in his shoulder pulsed hot. He swore lightly and pressed into his palm with one hand, trying to calm himself. 

"Hardin." 

A voice came behind him. He held his breath in momentary fear till he realized who's voice it was. 

Spencer's. 

He was sitting at the edge of his bed, legs planted on the tile floor. 

_ Spencer was awake this whole time? _

Hardin was confused. 

His nightmares were few and far between, and if he had to guess Spencer probably got them too. However neither of them usually witnessed the others panic, just a tired smile the next morning to prove solidarity. 

"Yea." Hardin replied, voice deep as he tried to mask his pain. He breathed harshly, trying to make his heaves quieter. Hardin turned to face Spencer, who was barely visible in the dark. Only a faint light from the corridor outlined his features. 

"Are you ok?" Spencer's voice came again. It was quiet and careful, but had the same concern it did when they were out in the woods. 

"I'm fine. A bad dream." 

Silence. 

Spencer got up slowly from his bed, and at the edge of Hardins bed. 

Hardin refused to make eye contact.

"Nightmares got the best of you?" Spencer asked. 

He chuckled after, but it was small and sad. 

"Hey, I learned this trick back in college, helped me out when I was stressed for exams and shit." Spencer continued. 

"You went to college?" Hardin finally made eye contact, genuinely curious. 

"Yup. Not smart enough to avoid the war though." 

Again with the sad laugh. 

Hardin didn't know what that was but he didn't like it. It didn't fit Spencer. 

He removed one hand from cradling his other, and waved at Spencer. 

"All right." He sighed. 

"All right?" Spencer echoed back. 

Hardin was almost exasperated. "I-I'll try your thing." 

He didn't have to look to know Spencer was smiling. 

"Alright then." The sad voice was replaced with a happier one. 

Hardin felt the bed shift, and when he looked up Spencer had leaned forward, hands in the air. He faltered a little bit at the eye contact, and Hardin almost flinched when the hands came to rest on either side of his head. 

The warm hands slowly started to move, and Hardin realized what was happening. 

_ A massage? _ He thought. 

A smile was brought to his face as he thought about the bizzarity of it, and that complexion was soon reflected in Spencer's own expression. 

Hardins mood steadily lightened, and he realized he wasn't breathing heavy anymore. The pain in his shoulder had ebbed to a slight burn. 

"You got to teach me how to massage like this." Hardin said. 

Spencer chuckled and grinned brightly, full teeth and all. His eyes shone bright in the dark.

"I guess I will."


End file.
